Glass Poetry Press

Volume Two Issue Two

Tim Hunt

Car Radio When It Seemed Late at Night (Gunsmoke)

Do you remember the drive home after the long day of visiting and how the tree branches would wipe away the stars, then give them back as you watched through the back window and the car swayed with the road that worked along the creek and through the gap in the hills. After the many minutes that seem much longer, the faint clicking of the tappets, the space between your parents, and the humming tires are a silence. All you hear is the radio. Marshal Dillon is talking to Miss Kitty. You do not yet know the word "madam" or "whore." You do not know what you hear in their voices or how to name the silences in the front, but what you hear is more than "madam" or "whore" and you trust it, believe it, even though you are nowhere in it, as you listen to the layering of voices, and the faint smear of stars appears and disappears again and again in the oval of the window.